


Hearts Don't Need Sight

by RomanceOnExpress



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/F, Femslash February 2017, Minor Canonical Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:11:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10017221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanceOnExpress/pseuds/RomanceOnExpress
Summary: “Oh come on, Sommerfield. I used to be a heartless blood-sucking monster. I know when people are in love."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fills the femslash february trope free space square, which I've themed with Pining.

As someone who can’t rely on sight, Sommerfield finds it a bit strange that Whistler would willingly cut off her hearing in battle. But then again, everyone adapts to being dragged into this war in one form or another. Dex goes out to different bars and finds himself in company that doesn’t know anything, and learns about trivial things that normal everyday people would care about. Hedges will hide himself in their duel work and diligently corrects any of her superficial mistakes without comment. Hannibal pushes himself into an alcohol/caffeine/drug induced state and trains under the influence.

Whistler listens to loud, blood-pumping music and dances in her own way to it, or watches as others dance for her into her arrows’ sights. Sommerfield has Zoe, and while taking care of a child is distracting on a normal day the Nightstalkers have additional things to worry about. Zoe is her one normal thing that she likes to take her time with and treasure, and it takes her away from it all for a little while.

She guesses that since Zoe’s age at introduction to the vampire world was so young she’s been able to hold a child’s resilience and attitude toward it all. Her baby hasn’t changed much, not that Sommerfield can tell, and she’s so thankful for that.

What Sommerfield has noticed is that her daughter shows the slightest bit of a harder attitude, which can be pinned on either Hannibal or Whistler. Hannibal is the obvious choice for those who don’t pick up on these things, but Sommerfield is clever and a mother who knows her daughter as well as the people they surround themselves with, and she knows Zoe takes after Whistler. The words may have Hannibal’s edge in them, but Zoe moderates herself after the archer with posture and coolness. And Sommerfield knows this because even though she’s blind, she can still _see_.

While everyone has a soft spot for her daughter in the kindest of ways (everyone buys her little gifts like candy and colouring books whenever they have time and money to spare), Whistler makes a physical presence for the both of them, reading to her daughter in books without braille, making certain Zoe eats healthy when Dex and Hedges skip on their vegetables, little things that are more difficult to be certain of when your sight isn’t there. And it’s those little things Sommerfield loves Whistler for, in a forcibly platonic way.

It’s not that she’s afraid of her feelings, not when she knows time is of extreme question for them and though they _feel_ safe at their base, everyone knows better than that. She isn’t scared of the team opinion on co-worker romance either, something that also means little in this world. And while everyone is accepting, there’s a particular level of frivolity that surrounds Hannibal and Whistler, the two who go out and face death every night and come back covered in blood and ash.

But she’s lived with losing the father of her child to this war, and while she can accept that any of them may not make it through the next night, Sommerfield isn’t certain she can live through the heart break again. It’s easier to ignore or suppress or whatever it is she’s doing to her emotions in order to avoid it.

-—-—-

Since she’s noticing more and more things about Whistler that she probably shouldn’t if denying her feelings was working, she braces, every night, for the loss of someone else she loves. The only thing she can really do is check that the emergency transfusion kit is exactly where she can find it and hope that if it’s needed, that she doesn’t fall getting it and herself to the medical station. Everyone has everyone’s blood types memorized, but she and Zoe are the only two O negatives and while her daughter is very, very brave, she’s not an ideal donor like Sommerfield is.

It’s almost stupid, she thinks when she goes to check the equipment as Dex drives away, that the one she’s most worried about is the one who prefers to take out her enemies from a distance, but Sommerfield can’t help thinking that maybe Hannibal will get into trouble, Abigail will come to his rescue, and she won’t notice a vampire until it’s too late…

Or her music will somehow successfully mask a vampire from behind her. It’s almost magic that it hasn’t happened yet, but Abigail is special like that.

Like anytime it gets too real for any of them, Sommerfield seeks out her totem, calling Zoe’s name and hugging her when the patter of her daughters’ footsteps are within arms-reach. She asks if she’s eaten yet, if she’s worked through her math booklet (a gift from Hedges, with characters to colour and big spaces to fill, a nice consideration from him). She tries to keep herself distracted by being motherly, and dreads the day when Zoe might call her clingy. But until then she holds on and tries to ignore the underlying fears.

When the three come back Zoe’s already in bed and Sommerfield is halfway through a page of her latest research results, curtesy of a special braille-printing machine they’ve salvaged. She puts everything aside and hears that the mood isn’t poor, so no one is seriously injured and their mission was a relative success tonight, without costing them too much energy.

But she still wants to be certain, and makes her presence known with the taping of her walking stick into the room. Hedges is still awake, and Hannibal is recapping the events while someone moves towards her. A hand touches her shoulder for a second before it’s gone again, but Sommerfield can tell who it is by the differing texture of fingers covered by an archery glove and calluses.

Whistler leaves the faintest scent of blood in the air and she hopes there isn’t much of it or the wound doesn’t hurt and it isn’t impeding her in any way. She knows the other woman is off to shower and rinse away the night’s battles like she does after every mission, and tries to refocus on Hannibal’s words over the sounds of the men unloading their latest revamped vehicle.

After a few minutes she gives up on listening in, parting with a quip at Hannibal that Dex guffawed at (“you’re boots are almost louder than your gun.” Sommerfield carefully turned around in the doorway, tapping her way back to her lab space. She’s only two more pages into her readings again when loud, confident, and deliberate steps detour towards her, as if proving her earlier point. Hannibal finds a clear spot on the counter and lifts himself onto it, and huffs a sigh. Her pages lower, one hand swiping over the text for spaces and the page number before moving the sheets to the side.

“Is something wrong?” She has to ask, because why else would he be here?

“Only the fact that you’re torturing yourself with your stubborn silence.” There is a grinding sort of scratching sound coming from his direction, and she associates it with Hannibal filing his nails.

Her mouth presses into a thin line as she contemplates his answer. Denial has always worked in the past. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Oh come on, Sommerfield.” The filing stopped, and she can imagine that he’s _pouting_ at her by tone in his voice. “I used to be a heartless blood-sucking monster. I know when people are in love. I used to…”

 _Target them_ , she fills in for his brief silence.

“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to avoid what happened with your baby-daddy,” he starts back up again, and Hannibal has begun swinging his legs, lightly kicking the cabinet on the backswing of every pump. Part of a bad habit that she tried to non-confrontationally work him out of. “But Abby’s strong, and tough, and seriously kicks ass, and I think you have less to worry about then you think. Plus Zoe likes her! Like, a lot. That should count extra points for you two to hook up.”

He pauses, gives her time to process what he’s saying, which she’s grateful for because she never expected Romance Lecture From The Boss to occur in her already changed and weird life. It’s almost touching how he’s concerning himself with her feelings, and she has to work through the fact that he’s outing her on them, and he cares enough to make it personal.

In the end the best she can come up with is, “I’m not sure it’s any of your business,” which is dismissing in itself but lacks the sting it needs to put an end to this whole bizarre topic.

“Fine, fine. But I thought I’d mention it because it’s getting pretty obvious and if Abby picks up on the weird romantic tension then there might be horribly awkward calling-out-of-things and teenage denials and stuttering and we all know you are _very_ much not _that_.”

Sommerfield doesn’t bother correcting Hannibal on the fact that this is hardly a mature conversation in itself despite the topic.

“I just want you to continue being the responsible adult of the group. And I also want to let you know that, if you need to, Dex, Hedges, and I can take Zoe out for a recreation of Three Men and a Little Lady. But better, because that sequel kinda _sucked_.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

“Thank you.” There’s motions of Hannibal leaving, the incredibly light sound of his boots landing on the floor again. A result of his experiences before or after being turned, Sommerfield wasn’t certain. “Just- one more thing. Don’t forget that it isn’t just you, okay? It always takes two to tango.”

She mulled over his parting words as he left, this time significantly quieter, and considered the weight of them. Despite initial appearances, Hannibal is extremely receptive to the going’s-on around him. If he’s encouraging her to make any move towards Abby, that had to be a strong vote of confidence for things to go well.

It was true, that while Sommerfield knows what she would get out of it she isn’t entirely certain that Whistler might need it as well. That these feelings of hers may be reciprocated, and that acknowledging them could be better for everyone involved. Stress relief, or security, _something_ that might lead to pleasant mornings and semi-regular routines.

But she’s getting ahead of herself now. Thinking of a future beyond the destruction of vampires wasn’t entirely within the realm of safe thoughts to have in this line of work.

So instead Sommerfield picked up her work again, found her spot, and distractedly tried to think of the best way a blind single mother might seduce a head-banging archer.


End file.
